


After All This Time

by girly1393



Series: You're Not Alone [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Assault, Attempted Rape, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulaton, F/M, Insomnia, Marauders, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8201335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girly1393/pseuds/girly1393
Summary: It's the secret I whisper to myself at night. Sounds of sleeping all around me, but I'm too afraid of the horrors in my mind to close my eyes. I am alone in this. I count the days like sheep, praying enough time has passed that I can finally be okay.
334 days.
It's never enough time.
Why isn't it enough time?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains descriptions of domestic violence, emotional manipulation, and attempted sexual assault. The main character also suffers from PTSD, even though it's not stated explicitly in the text. If you are sensitive to any of these things, please do not read this.
> 
> This is a work of fiction, but much of it resembles experiences in my own life. Writing this story was a way to help myself cope and to really acknowledge the full extent of what happened to me.
> 
> Abuse is a very serious problem, and far more common among teenage relationships than expected. If you or someone you know might be in a situation like this, seek out resources to get help. There are hotlines in almost every country in the world, and many websites offer suggestions on how to safely remove yourself from the situation. If you need or want more specific information, don't hesitate to send me a message.
> 
> With all of that, if you're going to go ahead and read it, I wish you luck, and I thank you. To all of the survivors out there, you are not alone. We are not alone.

You never know until you've felt it.

 

The way you shrink inside, pulling away, hoping no one will notice.

 

You need to cry, but you can't. You're shaking because you can't stop it. You can't hear anything but your own breathing, your heartbeat. Someone's talking, someone's always talking. 

 

Oh, someone's actually talking. I have to find words. "I don't know." That's easy. It keeps the conversation going. I don't have to listen.

 

It started because I saw him. Or I thought I did. It's hard to know the difference anymore. But he was there, back in my head, where it counts. 

 

He was supposed to be gone forever.

 

He pervades my life when I have found my voice again, when the edges have crusted over and I feel like I might be able to stand without bleeding. He sucks the breath right out of me.

 

That was once a good thing.

 

It's the secret I whisper to myself at night. Sounds of sleeping all around me, but I'm too afraid of the horrors in my mind to close my eyes. I am alone in this. I count the days like sheep, praying enough time has passed that I can finally be okay.

 

334 days.

 

It's never enough time.

 

Why isn't it enough time?

 

"Lils?"

 

I look up. The concern in those eyes. I could drown there, safe at last. But he doesn't know. He can never know.

 

I will never be the same if he knows.

 

I'm reminded the world is happening around me. Laughing. Writing. Shuffling. Signs that students are living every moment I feel like I'm dying.

 

"You back, Lils?"

 

I nod. Gesture to the papers spread out in front of both of us. He resumes telling me his plans for patrols, making it safer for Prefects. I nod, only half hearing. I'll read his proposal later, write up counterarguments if I have any. I won't, though. What's the use in fighting?

 

I didn't fight then, so why start now? Or rather, why resume now?

 

Because I used to fight. Everything. All the time. Stood up for myself, my friends, the voiceless. I cared about so much.

 

Where am I?

 

Oh, that was a question from outside my mind.

 

"Okay, you're really scaring me today, Lils. You haven't been this far away in a long time."

 

"Sorry, James," I say, shaking my head, pushing down the revulsion at the nickname. "Didn't get enough sleep."

 

The concern is still there, but it's softened by understanding. "If you need me to do more for a while, so you have time to sleep, let me know."

 

When did he become so responsible?

 

"Hey, James, Red. Dinner." His tone matches his name. He flashes a look at me, questioning but not probing. The concern again. I look away, anywhere else, away from the faces. Four faces, concerned, worried, but not talking. They know now, I won't talk about what takes me a million miles away. So instead, I try to engage, to take the edge off their worries.

 

"Finish Charms?" I ask, not curious but needing a topic.

 

"Barely." Charms is Pete's toughest subject, all the complicated wand movements and emotions needed. It's tough on me, too, now. 

 

Remus looks encouragingly at him. "You got the hang of that new spell before I did, Worm. You're getting better. The Patronus is hard. You'll get it."

 

I still haven't figured out why they call him Worm. Moony, Pads, Prongs—these names mean something, but I don't know what yet.

 

I might, if I bothered to ask, but I don't.

 

This didn't happen overnight. Even when it all ended, it took time to hit me. That I had been through something more than a shitty relationship, a bad boyfriend, a horrible breakup. That there was more beneath the surface.

 

It was an accident, the discovery. Words whispered in passing, stranger to stranger, about a local news story. The scandal it caused. But I felt it, deep in my bones. This had happened to me.

 

Abuse.

 

80 days after the breakup, 57 days after believing I was over it, 32 days after the last lingering look. Then the revelation hit me, and I couldn't breath, couldn't speak. I didn't speak for three weeks, unable to form words because mine were swallowed by one word.

 

One word that still haunts my tongue, choking most other words. I have to fight it, push it to the side of my mouth just to say anything else.

 

But push passed it I do, because there is no other option.

 

"Remus is right, the Patronus is not an easy spell," I remind him. "I've still not done it."

 

"What?" James and Sirius say together, the same surprise on their faces.

 

"What?" I reply indignantly, crossing my arms. "Thinking of happy memories strong enough to fight off pure evil isn't easy for everyone, you know."

 

The shock hits their eyes hard. They have each other, the pair of them. I have friends, yes, but it's not like that. There are no happy memories that pervade everything, even darkness, no matter how many good times we've had. The darkness pushes them away, and I am still clawing my way back to where we were.

 

"I could help," James offers. Now it's my turn to be surprised. "It's all about figuring your way through your own head. Sometimes you just need an outside voice to help you do that." 

 

If only it were that easy. But I nod absently anyway. 

 

"Maybe. Thanks."

 

It's becoming easier to half-heartedly accept people's promises upfront and then never follow through. It's easier to pull away than risk someone finding out.

 

And working with James Potter on Patronuses would definitely involve him finding out.

 

"Oh, c'mon, Lils." Sirius prods me with his elbow, not noticing when I flinch a little. "You're always the top in the class. It's okay to have it rough one time." He chuckles a little. "I mean, we learned half the hexes and jinxes we know now because you used them on us before we'd even learned to properly swish our wands."

 

"Bit of an exaggeration there." Dorcas always knows when to come to my rescue. Who needs a knight in shining armor when you can have a snarky friend?

  
Although I could have used a knight in shining armor, in snarky disguise or not, a long time ago. Maybe that's why I haven't told her.

 

I try to casually swallow Sirius's comment about my standing in the class, realizing they still haven't noticed that I'm not leading anymore. That I'm lagging behind him, James, Remus, Marlene, and Dorcas, not to mention the other Houses.

 

The conversation about the Patronus Charm continues through most of dinner, even after Marlene joins us. I know the theory and am not afraid to share that with the others, but I shy away when they talk about the memories they try to use.

 

I can't talk about something I've never had.

 

Because that's why I can't do it. I might know everything there is to know about the charm, but I can't find a memory in my head worth trying. They're all tinged black now, covered with the stain of what happened to me.

 

Before everyone else finishes, I wave goodbye and head to the library. I have James's proposals, my Charms work, and the next Potions project to review, and I haven't been able to work with other people at all this year. 

 

It's too much work to hide myself and do homework with my friends.

 

Sighing, I sit at the table and spread the papers in front of me. I'm hidden in a back corner, away from prying eyes. It's the opposite corner, though. I can't even bear to grab a book from that corner now; the memories are too fresh there.

 

I've been getting less than perfect marks in Transfiguration because of that corner this year.

 

James's proposal blurs before me, the ideas half-formed in my mind, but what I do understand is reasonable, responsible even. He put work into it. Then I feel guilty for not reading it. He deserves a better partner than a ghost of a person.

 

I push it and the Charms book away from me, reaching instead for Potions. I'll have to deal with the Patronus again soon, but not right now.

 

My secret in my still excellent grades in Potions is this hour, every night. I would stand no chance at success in class if I had to read the instructions as I went, learning each new step as it came up next. No, I have to read it ahead of time, giving myself the time to think it through.

 

Slughorn is always more than happy to tell me what great success he thinks I'll achieve every week, how I'll conquer each of these difficult potions.

 

What would he say of me if he knew the truth?

 

Footsteps and heaving breathing. I flinch when someone says my name. For a minute, back here, it sounds like him.

 

Then the moment is over, and I am able to look over my shoulder. It's James, of all people.

 

I close my Potions book, not wanting him to know that I'm actually a cheat. 

 

He sees my open Charms book, though, and his eyes melt a little, like they cannot contain the concern, the pity.

 

"Still can't get it?"

 

"Why did you follow me?" I ask, brushing aside his question. "Dorcas and Marlene should've told you I like to work alone."

 

"Oh, they did. I'm just not a good listener." He cracks a smile as he reminds me of my own words, that cheeky grin I know so well. The smile I resented when it represented mischief or more unwanted attention. The smile I now see as a light in the darkness.

 

But it can only ever be a smile. I am too broken now. He deserves more than me.

 

"No, I can't," I admit, finally answering the question. "I know all about it, but it's too hard to find an emotion strong enough."

 

A good emotion, at least.

 

I'd be a feast fit for Christmas dinner for the Dementors.

 

"Let me help." The words are a cross between an offer and a plea. I once would've suspected him of ulterior motives. Now it's too much work to consider the intentions of others.

 

"I—" I falter, the words telling him to leave falling short on my tongue. I really am not going to pass this term without getting this charm, I've just had too many mistakes. Maybe there's a way he could help, without needing to know the true reason for my failure. "All right."

 

He beams, a child at Christmas. "Really?"

 

"James, I don't say things just to say them."

 

Laughing, he ignores the bite to my words and says, "Well, c'mon then. We better find an empty classroom."

 

"Why? The library is just fine." Admittedly, I've never practiced it here before, but going off alone with James Potter of my own accord? That feels like foreign, frightening territory.

 

He pauses, looking uncertainly at me.

 

"Lils," he says slowly. "If it's as hard for you as you say, you won't want to be around other people."

 

Blast. He has a point. 

 

I gather my things, slowly at least, and follow him out of the library. He matches his pace to mine but doesn't say anything. Despite appearances, he's leading my steps, but I find myself stopped when I realized where he was going.

 

My own personal hell.

 

I'd never taken Muggle Studies, for obvious reasons, but he had. He knew when it would be empty. He'd taken me there at first for just a place to be alone, romantic words punctuating the pauses, but it became a place to hide what he did, to hide how he would make me feel small and worthless. To hide the pinches, the elbows, the anger.

 

"Lils?" James is holding the door open for me, surprised to find me 10 steps behind him.

 

The words rush out of me in a harsh whisper, my eyes clenching shut.

 

"Don't call me that."

 

_No one will ever believe you, Lils. No one else could love someone as worthless as you. I'm the best you're ever going to have._

 

The memories have a life of their own in this room.

 

I break off a scream when he touches me, my eyes flying open. He has never looked more afraid.

 

"Lily," he tries again, more softly, his hands inches away from my arms but not touching. Against my instincts, I want to lean into them, to feel someone else's warmth.

 

I haven't touched anyone in months.

 

"Let's get inside." It takes all of my willpower, but standing out here alone with James is worse than anything that might happen in there.

 

He follows me, half a step behind. I hear the door close as I take deep breaths, hoping I can push away the worst of it for now. I'll have plenty of sleepless hours tonight to relive the history in this room.

 

"Lily," he whispers. "What—"

 

"Where should we start?" I ask, looking just above his head. I see his face crinkle a little, but without looking, I can't identify the emotion. It's easier not to, to try to keep this as simple as one classmate helping another.

 

There cannot be room for anything else.

 

For whatever reason, he does not push me. Instead, he places his bag on a desk, pulls off his robe, and digs into his pocket for his wand. While I do the same, he rolls up his sleeves, white shirt covering the gray sweater. I think about doing the same, knowing this will be grueling work, but I still cannot bear to show my arms, even with the bruises long gone.

 

"Maybe," he starts, then falters. I nod him on. "Maybe I could show you how I do it. It might help, to hear and see someone else."

 

"Well, it can't hurt." He laughs a little at these words, and I smile lightly. Common ground, finally.

 

I can get through this. I might even learn something.

 

And most importantly, he won't.

 

"Well, I start by thinking through the last few days. Sometimes, a fresh happy memory is stronger than a tried-and-true one. If I can't think of one that's that great, I go back to Christmas three years ago."

 

My curiosity gets the better of me. "What happened that Christmas?"

 

Now he really smiles. So he'd baited me, the toerag.

 

"It was the first Christmas Sirius came to my house. It's always quiet at my house, just me and my parents, and even though they're fun and I love them, it's always sad to be the only kid, you know? So I thought it'd be great to have my best mate there, but it ended up being the best Christmas I'd ever had. We laughed all through dinner as my dad kept performing spells on the food and my mum half-heartedly scolded him for sending her turkey flying around the room, but she was laughing with us. I'd never laughed so hard in my life."

 

I close my eyes, trying to picture the scene. I'd seen his parents on the platform before, so it isn't as hard as I expected. But I can't imagine the joy. I see the smiles, the laughter, but they lack clarity to me.

 

"Christmas is never like that with my family," I admit, opening my eyes to James's expectant face. "Tun—Petunia, my sister, well, she hasn't much liked me since I started at school, and my dad finds it hard to bridge the gap between us, what with Mum gone now."

 

He starts. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

 

I wave my hand, dismissing his sympathy. "She was sick for a long time. It's been almost two years now."

 

"Doesn't make it easier."

 

That's true, but I don't say it. If she was still alive, I could've told her. Instead, I've found myself admitting the truth to her grave, knowing I'll never get comfort from the polished stone.

 

"What about a Christmas when you were young, before Hogwarts?" he suggests.

 

I don't have the heart to tell him that I've tried those before, wishing they would fill me up enough to even try to speak the words, so I nod.

 

"Okay, think of the best Christmas of your life. Hold on to the feelings you felt that day. Let them fill you up." He closes his eyes. " _Expecto patronum._ " A rush of white light, and then a deer is running around the room. Antlers? A stag.

 

"Prongs."

 

The stag disappears. "What did you say?"

 

"That's where it comes from, isn't it?"

 

He relaxes a little and nods. 

 

I remember the name is older than the first Patronus lesson. "When did you learn to do that?"

 

"I got it the night after our first class," he says. "I had trouble getting the corporeal form at first, but Sirius was there, so the memory was a little stronger."

 

So his Patronus is not the source of the nickname. There's something else. I could puzzle it out, but I shake my head instead, clearing away the thoughts.

 

James mistakes the motion for something else, though. Defensively, he says, "But that doesn't mean it should be as easy for you. I mean, what with the death of your mum, I get it must be hard to make the spell work."

 

"Oh?" I say absently. It's true my mum doesn't make it any easier, but it wasn't that darkness that stopped me. I had the reassurance that she wasn't sick anymore, wasn't in pain anymore, to help me accept her death.

 

There are no reassurances for what he did to me.

 

"Well, yeah," James continues, "you've got to dig deeper than that to find a good memory. Still got your Christmas one?"

 

I nod, flailing through my memory for a decent one. 6 years old, getting that new bike I wanted, one that matched Tuney's. It was the best I was going to get.

 

"Read to try?"

 

No, but I can't say that. Not with the hope in his face. So I nod again, and close my eyes. I try to remember how excited I was that morning, and I feel… something. It has to be enough. I open my eyes.

 

" _Expecto patronum._ "

 

I know the spell doesn't work right away, with only thin wisps of white light trailing out of my wand, but I don't expect to crash to my knees, overwhelmed.

 

_"You're not as smart as you think you are, Lils. That's your real secret: you're a failure, a lucky failure_." _The words ring through me. He holds my poor Transfiguration grade in his hands, waving it like evidence in a crime. "This is who you really are."_

 

"Whoa, whoa, Lily, it's okay," James insists, crouching in front of me. "Sometimes there's some real kickback when you don't get the right memory, especially if there's something dark in your past." He lets me breath for a moment, waiting for it to even out. "Ready to try again?"

 

He reaches out a hand to help me up. I hesitate, but choose to grab onto it. "Just, think of something happier. What about when you found out about Hogwarts?"

 

Tuney was so mad. Sev had been there. This memory is washed out with old pain, turned gray over the years, but I don't have any other ideas. I raise my wand again, the incantation rushed out of my mouth before I have time to regret it.

 

_"You're a Mudblood. You don't even deserve to be here. You took away a spot from a better wizard than you."_ _His hand squeezes tighter around my arm, sending shooting pain to old bruises, forming new ones._

 

I fall again, drowning, memories flooding me with pain and terror.

 

334 days since the first time it happened. His words, first, but later his hands. Maybe a book, a quill, an ink pot. Whatever he had on hand. Small jabs, swipes, and bruises. Always words, though. The pain punctuated with words. Words I had heard before, jokes or maybe taunts, but rarely so seriously. Rarely with feeling, with contempt and hatred.

 

Even Mudblood was kinder when it came from somewhere else.

 

I thought I was strong in the face of those words, when they came from somewhere else.

 

I was wrong.

 

I'm always wrong.

 

Tears leak out of me, uncontrollable, unstoppable. 

 

"Hey hey hey, oh Lils. It's okay. It's hard to do, I know." His hands are on my shoulders, rubbing them softly, as though comforting me.

 

Now I'm laughing, tears still falling. He thinks I'm frustrated? Well, I am, but not because I can't get the charm to work. Because I can't get passed these memories. 

 

Because they are all I know about the world anymore.

 

"I don't have happy memories."

 

His hands freeze, pressing into me. I suck in a breath, holding myself completely still. He looks down at them and then to my face, releasing me gently.

 

"It's him."

 

It's like a slap. "What?" I wheeze, gaping at him.

 

"Corvus? Your grades, your laugh, your smile, your friends, even Lils. Being touched, hugged, comforted. He took it all from you. Didn't he?"

 

I shake my head, wishing I could go back just a few minutes. No no no, he can't know. This can't be happening.

 

"What did he do to you?" The words are quiet but dark. I chance a look at his face. His eyes are closed, brow furrowed, mouth screwed shut. His voice gets even quieter. "Why didn't I see?"

 

I don't know what to say to that. I sit on the floor in front of him, limp. When he reopens his eyes, they shine with tears.

 

"You've been alone all this time. Quiet. Afraid." He glances down. "Your sleeves. Even when it's warm, you keep your arms covered."

 

It's like the revelation hits him in the stomach. I hear the air leave his lungs. His hands shake, reaching for me but stopping.

 

"He hit you."

 

I look away. It's all the confirmation he needs. I hear his breath hitch, the shake of it, but I cannot look. I cannot see James Potter cry for me. 

 

I do not deserve this.

 

My own tears stay in my eyes, my own sobs tucked into my heart. He doesn't touch me, although I know he wants to when his hands squeeze his lower thighs, like he's fighting something.

 

His voice is thick when he speaks again. "I should've known. I should've stopped him." He wipes at his eyes, and then looks up at me. "Tell… tell me what happened." Eyebrows furrowing, I look at him in confusion. "What he did," he clarifies.

 

"What didn't he do?"

 

"What?"

 

I turn away again, this time to hide my hurt instead of hiding from his.

 

I stand up, move away. I should leave. I can't bear what he'll think of me. But I look into his face again, and I can't stop myself.

 

"This was where we went, this classroom, or the back left corner of the library," I begin, my voice hushed. I hear James's confusion and surprise, but I talk over it. "At first, it was just nice to be alone. You know how this castle is, and we were in different Houses. He'd tease me when I got less than perfect on an essay, or if my potion had turned a strange color at one point. Joke about me not really being top of the class. It stung a little, but he was always laughing about it, telling me not to be so sensitive, that I needed someone to remind me I was human.

 

"Then he started wanting more time with me, telling me I spent too much time working or with my friends, that it wasn't fair he couldn't see more of me outside of classes. So I'd meet him here to do homework, or sometimes we'd have dinner here, food from the kitchens. It was nice, you know? Good to be wanted for just who I was, to have someone not afraid to tell me the truth about how they saw me."

 

"Oh, God." James gets up, his footsteps getting closer. He's behind me now, I can feel his breathing, but he doesn't touch me.

 

"Truthfully, I was just glad he wasn't you." I glance at him over my shoulder. His face doesn't change, concern and fear still there. "Not that I blame you for what happened," I say quietly, trying to reassure fears I don't know if he has. "I just, I needed to feel like a person, not a prize or an inducement to be a decent person.

 

"He started pushing boundaries soon enough, though. Wanting more than I would give, insisting he deserved more. Putting his hands where he wanted, not listening when I asked him to stop, not caring when I was uncomfortable. It was like my being uncomfortable was enjoyable to him.

 

"He would get angry, when I wouldn't relent. The anger spilled over everywhere else. When I got better grades than him, his words were harsh. Horrible. When it was my turn to patrol or if I spent time with Marlene and Dorcas, he became possessive, jealous. Scary. God forbid I had to work with another boy in class. He'd say the most horrible things then.

 

"I should've left then. But I didn't. Because he always apologized, always had reasons and sorrys and gifts. Sweet words. Gestures of his love, he said. And it got harder to leave, almost impossible to think I even could. I can't explain how he would guilt me, make me afraid, get me to doubt what happened, and then turn it back around, so it was my fault. He showed me how Tuney hating me was my fault, how Sev hanging out with those Death Eaters was my fault, how Mum dying was my fault. Convinced me of those things. And when everything becomes your fault, you're happy when he's kind, when someone, anyone, loves you."

 

My voice is barely audible now, but James is reacting behind me, his breath changing or stopping with each new puzzle piece. I should stop now. He knows enough to hate me, I don't need to add fuel to the fire.

 

But I've never said it all out loud like this before. So the words keep coming, like a flood.

 

"It wasn't until he had me trapped that the bruises started. His hands squeezing too tight, or his elbow in my side. The way he could swing a book into my stomach like a beater's bat. His fist, if I did something really wrong. These were all where no one could see, on my back, my sides, or my stomach, maybe the tops of my legs. He told me not to say anything, that he'd do much worse to me if he found out I'd told someone. That since he was a Hufflepuff, no one would believe me anyway. 

 

"When I listened, he took more chances. Pinched my arms, or dug a quill tip into my skin. Threw an ink pot once, when I made him really angry but moved away too fast for him to hit me."

 

"The ink," James breathes behind me. He remembers, then, the day I came back to Gryffindor Tower dripping with ink and claimed it was a funny story, a silly ink-splattering fight, but I don't stop. I can't stop, not now. If I stop now, I will never finish. These words will always be trapped in me.

 

"I still didn't leave. He made me afraid to leave, more afraid of what would happen if I tried to escape than of what was already happening to me. I avoided everyone, only talking to my friends at meals or in our dormitory before bed. I asked professors to pair me up with his friends in class, doing as he asked so someone was always watching me, convinced Slughorn to switch tables. You would know, since you had been Cetus's, his friend's, partner before that. He'd have Cetus or someone else purposefully screw up my spell-work or potions, though, wanting to be better than me at everything, telling his friends it was a joke. He knew he could get away with it. I fought for decent grades, hoping to continue my N.E.W.T. classes during this year, but not sure why I bothered. My life was being laid out by him, and it didn't involve me pursuing any sort of dream, let alone being a curse breaker.

 

"He said we'd get married after I finished at Hogwarts, move to London. He would work for his dad at the Ministry, and I could work in the office, too, where he could keep an eye on me, making sure I didn't mess anything up. He wanted four kids, all boys, and eventually a big country house. An isolated house. My life was falling apart in front of me, but I still didn't stop it. I couldn't stop it. It took a long time, longer than it should have, for me to find the one thing I couldn't take, the push I needed to leave."

 

I keep my eyes closed, trying not to picture anything, not even remembering when I'd closed them.

 

"We were at his parents' house for New Year's. He had been so good to me. Yes, he'd kept a sharp knuckle in the small of my back when we talked to his parents, but that was all. And by now, that was so little, I could ignore it. His parents insisted we go to the front room to have our own celebration, away from the boring Ministry talk. His mum had left food there for us, and a few bottles of cold butterbeer. I thought everything would go well, that this would be a nice night.

We were listening to dinner in the dining room, then his parents' friends moving into the back parlor to celebrate the new year. I could hear them, all of those adults, hoping their presence would keep him in check, but they were too far away for him to worry about them. And so, like I always did, I let him lead, glad he had been kind all night and wishing to not ruin it.

 

"Before I'd gotten there, without even asking me, he'd decided tonight was the last straw, that he would sleep with me. He wouldn't, couldn't wait for me to agree any longer. When he thought the coast was clear, he led me upstairs. I'd never been in his room, even though I'd visited over the summer. I'd wanted to talk to his mum and dad, to his younger brother and sister. I liked getting to know those pieces of him. And the first visit had been in the early days, so he let me, graciously. He had still pretended to want me to be happy.

 

"The second I walked into his room, I knew something was wrong. His room was a mess, but not the bed—it was made up perfectly. The door locked behind him, something he only did when he was going to do something horrible, and I'd never felt more afraid. After everything that he had done, he had never tried to take this from me. He'd always stopped, even if it was long after I'd started begging. He wasn't going to stop tonight, though. I knew it right away when he kissed me. But I did the only thing I knew how to do by then: I didn't fight him. Even when he started pushing me down, all I did was beg, plead with him not to do this. I had bruises on my legs for weeks from where he'd used his knees to hold me still while he unbuttoned my shirt, pushed away my skirt, grabbed onto my hair. I couldn't breathe. I still remember that, how my lungs burned as I tried not to scream. Because screaming only made him more angry."

 

James is crying again. I am, too, the tears rolling down my face.

 

"His mum knocked on the door then. He gave me one threatening look and got up, tucking his shirt back in as he buckled his pants. I fixed my clothes, smoothed my hair, and tried to look normal, whatever that meant. When he opened the door, his mother had a look on her face like she knew what we were doing but that she didn't disapprove. Like we were just crazy young kids in love. She invited us downstairs to send off sparks when the clock struck twelve. He started to tell her no, but I involuntarily nodded, grateful for any excuse to leave. He wasn't looking at me, and she insisted when she saw me. So, we went downstairs. I tried to discreetly adjust the buttons on my shirt and pull my cardigan back on, and she pretended not to notice. He noticed, though, and he was furious. 

 

"I knew he was furious with her more than me, but I also knew I would be the one who felt it. So I stuck close to her for the rest of the night and accepted his dad's offer to take me home via side-along after about an hour of celebrating in the new year, let him kiss me goodbye, feeling the sharp edges of his teeth against my lip, a warning of what would come. It wasn't until I was home safe in my bed that I realized I had almost let happen, what I had been letting happen for the last seven months. And I knew I had to end it. I sent him an owl the next morning and refused to even read the ones he sent back. I didn't know if he would be angry, insistent, haughty, or if he would beg. I didn't want to know, because any of those could've stopped me.

 

"I went to see Marlene a few days later, and she was so glad to see me that I almost didn't tell her what I had done. When I finally admitted to breaking up with him, she sent for Dorcas right away, assuring me that I deserved better than him and she was so glad I had seen sense. Her words didn't mean much, though, not when she didn't know the truth, didn't know what had been happening all along. I stuck close to them the rest of the year, avoiding him whenever possible. At first, he was apologetic, even crying when he saw me. Then he became threatening, intimidating, reminding me not to tell anyone anything. He let me go because he couldn't keep me, but he wasn't going to give me peace. So I didn't say anything, and he finished his Seventh Year. I didn't see him after that. I could've told them then, my friends, but I still didn't know what to say.

 

"The gap got wider, and soon it was too far to cross. So I didn't tell them. I still haven't. And they don't know that their words are still shadowed by his, that I can't sleep because I'll dream about what he said, what he did, what he almost did. They can't know that I don't deserve to be in Gryffindor, that I am a coward, that I can barely say his name. That I—that he—Co—Corvus a—that I did nothing to stop any of it."

  
I've run out of words. I'm on the floor, but I don't know when that happened. I'm crying, hard now, my sobs so loud, echoing off the stone walls. And I wait for the door to close, to be alone again. For James to realize I'm not worth anything anymore.

 

He doesn't leave, though. Hesitantly, faintly, he puts his arms on my shoulders. When I sink, he pulls me close, hugging me to him. His tears fall onto my shoulder, my cheek, my hair, and mine glide down his hands.

 

He holds me. Not needing anything. Not saying anything. Just keeps me close long after he's stopped crying. After I do. The silence becomes more than I can take. Silence from Corvus had meant danger.

 

"James, I—"

 

"No." His voice is quiet but firm. "You don't have to explain to me. I heard it, every word, and I heard more than what you realize. He's still in your head, forcing his perspective onto your memories. You blame yourself, you feel so guilty for, what did you say?, not fighting. But you shouldn't. It's not your fault. Lily, look at me. Please." I turn a little, my body sideways but my face to his. "Lily, it was never your fault. None of it. It is all his fault."

 

The words make sense, logically I know they do, but I still feel like they're wrong. "He said he loved me," I whisper, dropping my eyes. It's my last-ditch attempt to make him understand how I had been infected. "Despite everything I do wrong, all of the people I hurt, he said he still loved me. He said no one else could, and no one would ever believe me."

 

"He hurt those people, not you. He hurt _you_. And he did not love you. He loved to control you."

 

Slowly, silently asking my permission, he lifts my chin up, bringing my eyes back to his. "I believe you. Lily, what he did, it's unforgivable. I believe _you_."

 

I break. I've been broken a long time, but I feel the cracks opening up again. My shoulders are shaking and again I feel my own tears, but this time I make no sound.

 

"I believe you," he says again, this time into my hair as I fall back into his chest, his arms encircling me again. "You don't have to do this alone anymore. You are not alone."

 

He says it over and over again, even when I'm quietly sitting there. Safe. I haven't felt safe in a year. It's not happiness, exactly, but it's warm and strong.

 

I suddenly jerk away. James looks frightening and a little upset, but I'll explain in a minute. 

 

I got what I needed. Someone listened.

 

Someone believed me.

 

Holding the feeling tight, I pick up my wand again and let the warmth spread through me, whispering. I keep my eyes closed, afraid that maybe it didn't work.

 

When he gasps, I know I did it. I open my eyes.

 

A doe.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited: 18 March 2018


End file.
